


Until We Blur

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, True Alpha Scott McCall, Wolfed Out Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regardless of his mortal status, so unlike the majority of his peers, Stiles isn’t helpless. Stiles is a fast runner and can throw a punch. When worst comes to worst, he's a problem solver and a quick thinker. Now, he can make molotov cocktails and hot wire cars and definitely, more than anything, have rough sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Blur

**Author's Note:**

> Rose prompted me with "Stiles reeeaaally liking it when Scott wolfs out. Cliche I know, but DAMN does this have potential, especially with you at the wheel. This can be canon related or AU, whichever your heart desires."
> 
> This is my first time writing knotting!

Stiles thinks it’s funny that after everything they’ve been through, Scott is still so careful with him. As if Stiles hasn’t been beaten, dead, possessed; like he hasn’t had broken ribs and bruises on his skin and blood on his hands.

Maybe that’s the motivation for Scott: Treat Stiles like porcelain when they’re together, to make up for everything that’s happened. Everything that Scott probably blames himself for, considering he was the one who got bit and dragged Stiles into it, stubbornly blind to the fact that Stiles came willingly. Wherever Scott went, whatever Scott did, Stiles had to be there beside him. Their lives were so entwined that Stiles couldn’t ever see abandoning that, no matter what. Hell or high water; kanimas or mercenaries or _Theo_. 

Regardless of his mortal status, so unlike the majority of his peers, Stiles isn’t helpless. Stiles is a fast runner and can throw a punch. When worst comes to worst, he's a problem solver and a quick thinker. Now, he can make molotov cocktails and hotwire cars and definitely, more than anything, have _rough sex_. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles says, when they’re lying on their backs after a satisfying round of Scott-worships-Stiles’-body-and-Stiles-comes-his-brains-out. Scott is partial to face-to-face, kissing while they fuck, hands gentle and sure. Not that Stiles minds, but it’s so incongruous with the rest of their relationship sometimes. 

Especially after any kind of adrenaline high. It’s like a sudden stop, slamming on the breaks. When their lips crash and their teeth bite into each other, then Scott pulls back, hands on both Stiles’ cheeks, slowing him down. Then, they’re grinding together, bodies moving like waves under the subtle pull of a full moon. It’s toned down, without the sharpness and the demand that Stiles wants, _needs_ sometimes.

“What?” Scott asks, spread out, legs knocking into Stiles’, sweat on his chest and at his hairline. The room is thick with sex, hot and humid from body heat. Scott looks the best like this, fucked out and sated, eyes heavy-lidded, limbs dense.

“Be gentle,” Stiles says, moving onto his side so he can see Scott. Scott rolls his eyes dismissively, which lets Stiles know that he does it on purpose, at least a little. Stiles appreciates it, he does.

There’s a feralness in him that can’t be attributed to the pull of the full moon, that has no excuse besides the fact that Stiles has his own demons. (Secretly, he thinks that’s why the nogitsune got in. Stiles has always had a darkness and it fed off that, ate it up, pushed it to consume Stiles.) Sometimes it helps that Scott is soft, shining light, that his goodness radiates so deeply. That translates into their sex. When Stiles is vibrating with the adrenaline and the anger and the hatred, Scott can tug him back from the edge with his hands and his mouth and his dick. 

Sometimes he needs something more though, he needs to be shoved around, needs to be distracted. He needs to be taken out of his head by Scott, held down, shown Scott’s strength so he can submit, so he can bare his neck and just _let go_. 

“Yeah, I’ll be rough with you. Then, I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life if I break a bone or draw blood. I’d have to suck you off for 50 years to even start making up for that.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Stiles says, snuggling into Scott’s side. It’s not cute. He shoves his feet into Scott’s thigh and bites his shoulder with sharp teeth. “Besides, what if I want you to draw blood?”

“Sounds kinky,” Scott says, leaning over to kiss Stiles. Stiles obliges, sticking his tongue in Scott’s mouth, dragging his nails down his back, enticingly, harder than he normally would. 

“Stiles,” Scott warns. When Stiles meets his eyes, they’re red, and Stiles feels a jolt of arousal burst through him. Scott blinks at him, frowning. His eyes clear and they’re back to brown. “ _Really_?”

“Dude, what did I say?” Stiles asks, wriggling closer, pressing his teeth into Scott’s throat. Scott’s head tips back without hesitation, sighing as Stiles’ teeth move over his jaw, his adam’s apple, his collarbone. Stiles bites into the side of Scott’s neck, and sucks, satisfied when Scott groans and goes limp. “I love your eyes, I love your strength and I love the way your face goes all bumpy like one of those vampires on Buffy, _fuck_.”

“You want me to use my strength on you?” Scott asks. Stiles drags his tongue over Scott’s throat and feels him swallow after the words, like he’s worried. Stiles grins sharply against his throat and doesn’t have time to answer before Scott is flipping them over. 

Both his wrists are in Scott’s grip, thighs bracketing his own, making Stiles whine for no real reason and arch into the heat of Scott’s body. Stiles feels Scott tighten his grip, feels the skin slide over the muscle, the burn of the friction. It’s _delicious_. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scott says, but Stiles can see his chest rise and fall, the way his eyes are impossibly dark, staring at Stiles like he’s discovering something enticing and new. 

“You won’t,” Stiles says, emphatically. “I trust you, just --” Stiles bucks his hips up and twists, throwing Scott to the side. Scott goes easily, because he’s predictable, letting Stiles’ hands slide free, lounging onto his side like he was before. Exactly the opposite of what Stiles wants. 

Stiles grins and moves forward, butting his head into Scott’s shoulder, biting him again. The escaping rush of air from Scott is indication enough that the biting is riling him up, at least a little. When Stiles looks up, Scott has that same calculating look on his face, but his mouth is edging around a smile.

“Stop being a chicken shit,” Stiles says, sitting up on his knees so that he can loom over Scott, pushing his palms into Scott’s shoulders, making him fall back. Stiles follows and presses their mouths together. The kiss is more of a challenge than anything, sucking Scott’s plush bottom lip into his mouth before biting it harshly; hands gripping Scott’s biceps, squeezing tightly. It’s all a goad to bring out Scott’s competitive side, to push and push until Scott responds with something more than gentle touches. 

It takes more of Stiles’ demanding mouth to get more than a placating response. It’s always been in Scott’s nature to go along with Stiles, but at a less aggressive pace. It takes until Stiles’ hand is wrapped around the back of Scott’s neck, tugging him up towards him. Scott tries to get his hands on Stiles’ face, to cup his jaw with a soft touch he knows quells Stiles every time, but Stiles bats his hand away and that, _that_ is apparently the last straw for Scott. 

Stiles feels the rumble before he hears it, coming up through Scott’s chest and his lips, vibrating between them. It’s a _growl_ , low and throaty, and it goes directly to Stiles’ dick. Scott must be able to sense it because his throat rumbles again as he flips them and sits on Stiles’ hips. His hands are pressing Stiles’ shoulders down into the mattress, hard points against Stiles’ muscle. It makes him feel secure and free-floating all at once.

“You want me to rough you up?” Scott asks, playing along finally. Stiles doesn’t bother answer with words, he’s already hard from touching Scott with such intent, so he just grinds up against him to make his point. Scott’s head cocks and he draws back, eyebrows knitting together. 

“I guess we’ll have to wait,” Scott says, as Stiles hears the clatter of Melissa’s key in the lock. 

“Just when I thought we were getting somewhere,” Stiles groans, falling back as Scott climbs off him and starts throwing clothes his way. Stiles scowls at him and drags his underwear off his head. 

“Next time babe,” Scott says, with a wink, adjusting himself in his pants before pulling on a shirt. One day they’ll have their own place and Stiles won’t have to deal with this _next time_ bullshit.

 

 

Next time doesn’t come quickly, at first. Scott is still gentle. There’s definitely progress on the roughness, but it’s deliberate roughness on Scott’s part. Not that Stiles doesn’t appreciate the effort Scott is making. 

At one point, he can walk his fingers from his neck down his chest and to his hips, marching along a path of hickies that are red and purple and burn deeply satisfying when he presses on them. Scott’s been a little more adventurous with pinning him down and shoving him into walls, but Stiles can feel the hesitation in his movements, still restraining himself. 

Not that Stiles wants to get smacked around or anything, but --

They used to be equal, in every sense. Equally unpopular, equally unsuccessful in sports and dating and everything. They were always the same, even when Stiles’ mom died, Scott’s parents were divorcing, so they were equally devastated about different things.

Now, Scott is strong and capable and morally right while Stiles is constantly faltering and at a loss and, despite what anyone says, a _murderer_. Scott is the personification of hope, the light in the darkness, the beacon that all things are drawn to, and Stiles can’t look at himself in the eye when he passes a mirror. 

To say they’re unequal is a vast understatement. 

Not that _that’s_ what it’s about. Not really, not fully. 

It’s about Stiles needing Scott to let go, for once. He’s been so worried about control since the bite, so focused on what’s right, being alpha. Stiles needs him to stop, just for once, to let himself break apart, let the barriers drop. 

This is where they’re unequal in the deepest sense. Stiles is constantly out of control, wildly careening. Stiles’ hands shake unrelentingly, anxiety burning white-hot at the back of his mind. For some reason, Stiles needs to see Scott without caution or control, needs their playing field to be level. He needs to be there when Scott falls part, needs to crumble with him so that they can build each other back up. 

Sex is, essentially, about letting go completely. Stiles knows that sex would be the perfect outlet for that. A controlled environment for the loss of control. Plus, Stiles can’t help the way his pulse jumps when Scott’s eyes flash red. Just thinking about the amount of power contained in Scott’s lithe body makes Stiles feel hot, wanting to feel that strength aimed at him full force. 

He thinks about the way his hands shake, and thinks about Scott pinning them down so they’re still, so they don’t move, grip tightening on Stiles’ wrists until Stiles’ hands are numb from it. It makes Stiles’ dick hard thinking about how badly he wants Scott to shove him into the wall, pin him in place, growl at him a little. 

He wants Scott to lose control _at him_ , make him feel less alone in the way that he’s barely holding it together. Only Scott _won’t_. 

“You need to let go,” Stiles says, keeping his voice light. Scott looks at him, eyes widening in surprise. Okay, so it’s a little out of the blue, they’ve been studying for a half an hour without a word, but Stiles can’t stop thinking about it. 

It’s like Stiles can see the tension in Scott’s shoulders even when he’s supposed to be at ease. It’s bunched up in the muscles of his neck and shoulders; obvious to Stiles, who has spent the better part of his life observing Scott. 

“Let go how?” Scott asks, closing his book up carefully. “If I let go too much, I’ll be marking up my territory and peeing on your leg.”

“Doesn’t sound terrible,” Stiles says. Especially marking Stiles up. Apparently, Stiles has a thing for bruises.

“It does,” Scott says. “I’m not allowed to lose control, Stiles.”

“You can lose control with me,” Stiles says, sincerely, eyes on Scott’s before he can’t maintain eye contact. There’s something about the intensity of Scott’s gaze that makes his insides buckle. 

“No, I can’t.” 

That sounds final.

“You need to let go,” Stiles insists, pushing. He sits up, moves closer. Not so that they’re touching, just closer, so he can feel the heat of Scott’s body. Scott’s frowns down at his closed book, eyebrows knitting together in concern. 

“I don’t need to.”

“You’re tense,” Stiles says, moves closer so he can nose behind Scott’s ear, drag his lips over his neck. “If you let go, I’ll be there to hold you together.” He drags his hand up Scott’s leg, playing around his inseam. 

“You wouldn’t be able to control me,” Scott says, breath shuddering out of him when Stiles drags his hand across his hardening dick. Stiles grabs at his thigh, squeezing. 

“That’s the point,” Stiles says, biting down on down on Scott’s ear. “To just let go, give into your instincts.”

Scott snorts through his nose dismissively, but when he turns to look at Stiles, his eyes are crimson and shining. Stiles bites back a self-satisfied smile and grabs Scott’s hand so he can feel how hard Stiles is, just from that. Just from _talking_ about Scott losing control. 

Scott smirks and leans over to kiss Stiles, deep and wet, turns so that he can shove Stiles into the mattress and press their bodies against each other, pinning Stiles down. The weight of him is solid and reassuring and warm.

“Like that, but more,” Stiles says, arching into Scott, kissing him hard when they come down together. “Eyes, but no claws or teeth, you’re holding back.”

“Maybe my control is just too good,” Scott says, smirking. His eyes haven’t reverted, but Stiles doesn’t know if that’s for his benefit, or if Scott can’t actually help it. 

“Do you want it to be?” Stiles asks, seriously. Despite the fact that the idea of Scott’s wolf turns him on, it doesn’t work out if Scott hates the idea of completely letting go during sex. “Do you want to constantly have all that pent up frustration?”

“That’s not what it’s like,” Scott says, sitting up. Stiles grabs him around the thighs so he doesn’t move off Stiles completely, so he stays while they talk. “I’m used to it now.”

“You don’t have to hold back. I can take it.”

“Except that you can’t. You’re human, Stiles.” Scott sighs and leans down to grab at Stiles’ face and steer him into a gentle kiss. It’s long and lingering in a way that makes Stiles’ chest ache for no reason at all. 

“I’m your human,” Stiles says, meaning it sincerely. He can’t even joke about it, the words are weighted with truth so heavy he feels lighter for saying it. 

“Yeah,” Scott says, exhaling heavily and leaning down to kiss Stiles with a heavy drag of his mouth. 

They definitely aren’t going to have rough sex after that admission, Stiles thinks. Any feelings, even as brief as a single phrase, always translate into slow sex: Scott reciprocates emotions with his hands and tongue. Scott’s kisses linger on Stiles’ mouth and jaw and neck and chest. As he moves down, his lips are warm and soft all over Stiles; tongue tracing lightly over his moles and nipples, dragging through his happy trail. The only bite he leaves is a quick nip to Stiles’ hip, before licking the crease of his thigh and going down on him. 

From there, it’s Scott’s mouth: tight heat around Stiles’ dick, dragging his tongue lower and lower until he’s shoving Stiles’ hips up and eating him out, slick and excruciatingly slow. It doesn’t take long for Stiles’ thighs to start shaking, but Scott doesn’t stop. Not even when Stiles starts begging. 

When he does stop, he grabs the lube and fingers Stiles open with slow strokes while pinning Stiles’ hips down so he can’t move against Scott’s hand and insist he hurry. Scott kisses Stiles gently when he eases the fourth finger in, muttering encouragement against his lips, moving his hand in and out, thick, catching Stiles’ rim. The stretch is the best kind of dull, aching pleasure that makes Stiles want _more._

“Are you going to knot me?” Stiles asks, voice barely a whisper, trapped in his chest. Scott’s breathing through his mouth, looking down at his hand between Stiles’ legs, Stiles’ cock hard and red above that. At the sound of Stiles’ voice, Scott looks up, eyelashes fluttering in confusion.

“Do you want me to?” Scott asks, licking his lips. 

“Sure. I mean, if you want, if you’re down,” Stiles says, dragging his tongue across his lips, mirroring Scott nervously. It’s not something they’ve done before, but Scott’s hand is already slick and Stiles’ rim is already sitting right above Scott’s knuckles. Why the fuck not?

“Of course, I’m down,” Scott says, smirking slightly before his eyes go soft and he leans back down for a kiss. They don’t say anything as Scott grabs more lube, dumping it into his palm liberally before applying it. He lines himself up and pushes in, Stiles’ prepped body giving way to him easily. 

It’s still slow, rocking together, face-to-face, kissing each other. It only speeds up once Scott gets close, slamming into Stiles while Stiles strokes his own dick lazily, eyes on Scott’s face. Scott’s eyes are screwed shut, but Stiles watches anyway: The way his mouth drops open, eyes blinking furiously when he comes, slamming into Stiles deeply and staying there, cock pulsating inside him. 

They usually pull out when Scott comes, but Scott stays, grabbing Stiles’ hands and pinning them above his head as Stiles tries to relax around him, feeling the way Scott starts to swell inside of him. It’s an overwhelming burn and push that Stiles isn’t entirely sure he’s prepared for. 

Scott distracts Stiles with a hard kiss that surprises him, teeth dragging out his bottom lip before Scott soothes it with his tongue. Scott thrusts his hips forward, screwing in deeper and making Stiles gasp, before he pulls out, testing his knot on Stiles’ rim. 

“Fuck,” Scott says, voice rough in his throat, hands tightening on Stiles’ wrists, body stretched above him. Stiles whines at the sensation, hips jolting forward as Scott pulls back. They’re locked together, the pressure still pushing on Stiles’ _everything_ , making it feel overwhelming; too much and not enough, all at once. 

There’s teeth digging into Stiles’ neck, making him hiss happily as Scott’s mouth wanders across his collarbones. Stiles barely feels the nick of teeth, but it’s there, just enough of a prick for Stiles to tell the difference. Arousal surges, renewed, through his veins.

“Show me your face,” Stiles demands, chest heaving, the exertion and excitement making his heart pound. Scott huffs into his neck, but pulls back regardless. When their eyes meet, Scott’s are bright red. The rest of his face is ordinary, but --

Stiles grabs his chin like he’s going in for a kiss, watches as Scott’s mouth goes slack. His incisors are extended, top and bottom. Stiles’ head goes thick and foggy with adrenaline, mind stuck on the idea that Scott had his sharp, deadly teeth so close to Stiles’ _jugular_. There’s a sizzling sensation in Stiles’ veins that make him want more, need more of it; danger that isn't actually danger because it's _Scott_. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Stiles whines, before surging forward to press their mouths together, more open and panting against each other than anything as he snakes his tongue out to lick along Scott’s fangs, feel the sharpness of them. The wildness that runs rampant through Scott’s veins is so close to the surface, Stiles can almost taste it in the air between them.

Stiles is so sure Scott will try to move away that he tightens his grip on Scott’s face, almost bruising, but Scott doesn’t pull back. Instead, he goes lax, groaning into Stiles’ mouth as Stiles’ tongue moves over his teeth and lips, caressing without purpose. 

Stiles is aching between them, dick trapped against their stomachs, warm with friction. He’s trying to last has long as possible, so he doesn’t touch himself, doesn't think of touching himself. Instead, he has a hand tangled in the back of Scott’s hair, the other stroking over his chest, nipple, down his side. Stiles grinds his hips down on the knot, feels the delicious burn of it, the tug as he rolls his hips up. 

He’s stretched wider than he ever has been, filled up completely. The feeling is better than he thought it would be. It hurts, but it’s the pleasurable sort of pain that makes the base of his skull tingle as he grinds down on Scott’s lap. 

Scott watches with his mouth open as Stiles rotates his hips experimentally, tilting to get Scott's knot against his prostate. Scott rakes human nails over Stiles’ back and the curve of his ass, leaving a delicious sting in their wake. Stiles groans and wiggles in response. 

Without warning, Scott grabs Stiles’ hips and thrust up, the tiniest amount. The movement jerks them both, knot unable to move freely in Stiles. It also angles, hard and perfect, against Stiles’ prostate and he groans, whining, moving on Scott’s lap trying to get the feeling back.

“Do it again,” he says, panting. Scott obliges, one hard thrust up and Stiles moans loudly, unable to help it. There’s white noise in his ears, body hot and tingling from the sensation of Scott buried so deeply inside of him. Scott echoes him, thrusting again, grip bruising Stiles’ hips. It burns in the best way; Stiles hopes there are marks tomorrow, to remind him. 

Regardless, there will be bruises on his neck as Scott sucks the skin there, right against where Stiles’ blood flows closest to the surface. All the sensations are overwhelming: Scott’s hands on him, his mouth. Scott pushes him back, lets Stiles go just far enough so that his knot tugs at Stiles’ rim and Stiles practically shouts in surprise, dick spurting precome across his stomach. 

Scott smirks down at him, eyes still bright red and Stiles can’t look away, captivated by the wild look of wanting there. His back hits the mattress as Scott presses down on him, practically folding Stiles in half and screwing in roughly. Stiles' body gives and Scott pulls, tugs his knot, shoves back in and finds Stiles’ prostate. 

“Fuck, Scott, fuck,” Stiles says, hands clawing at Scott’s back. Scott’s hands are braced next to Stiles’ head, so Stiles hears it clearly when the sheets rip. Scott does too, drawing back to grab at Stiles’ hips. Stiles can see his claws, dark and deadly against Stiles’ pale skin. 

“Goddamnit, Scott, Scotty,” Stiles whines, grinding down, wishing they weren’t knotted so Scott could fuck into him, roughly. Maybe he’d grab Stiles, restrain him properly, hold him tight enough to leave bruises that purpled. Get them sweaty and slick, and pound into him so hard that he can’t breathe because of it. Instead, they grind together roughly, pulling apart as far as they can before rocking back together. 

“Fuck my knot,” Scott says, vehemently, hitching Stiles’ leg up so that his hand spans the side of his thigh, claws still on display. It doesn’t seem like Scott is making any effort to pull back the partial shift he has going on. “I want to ride you so hard you can’t think straight.”

“Next time,” Stiles pants. Scott might not be slamming him into walls and fucking him roughly, but his knot is edging against his prostate, sweetly, making Stiles vibrate with sensation. “I won’t let you knot me. I’ll make you fuck me over and over until I’ve come so much we’re covered in it --”

“Fuck, don’t say shit like that,” Scott says, teeth against Stiles’ collar again, sucking in more marks. It’s harder than it was before, burning against Stiles’ skin, making him flush all over.

“I want you to hold me against the door and fuck me,” Stiles says, knowing Scott’s strong enough, even if he is shorter. It would be easy for him to lift Stiles on and off his dick, controlling Stiles’ movements.

“I want you shifted,” Stiles says, lower, pulling Scott to him so he can drag his mouth along Scott’s ear to bite his lobe. There’s sweat running down his skin, heavy with salt as Stiles' tongue slides along Scott’s crooked jaw, sucking on it hard. “I want to feel your claws on my skin, I want you to claim me.”

He feels the rumble of Scott’s growl before he hears it, vibrating between them. When he pulls back, Scott’s forehead is collapsed into familiar ridges, teeth thick and sharp, finally giving into the shift. 

“Do you like that?” Stiles pushes, grinding down. The pressure isn’t as much as it was before. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s getting used to it, or because Scott’s knot is going down. Either way, it’s a new sensation as Scott figures out that he can move more, thrusting into Stiles quickly. “Do you want to claim me, baby?” 

Scott growls again, barely there, as if he doesn’t want to, but the sound goes straight to Stiles' dick anyway. The way Scott looks like this, hair and fangs and claws, it has Stiles' pulse galloping in his chest and his cock, desperate for more. 

“I’m yours,” Stiles reassures him, cutting himself off with a pitiful moan as Scott nails his prostate. There’s a bright white behind his eyes, the harsh drag of Scott inside him as he gets more space to move is almost too much to take. “Fuck, I mean it, Scott, _Scott_.”

Scott doesn’t respond, knot gone down enough that he can tug his dick out of Stiles with an obscene, wet sound. It’s almost overwhelming to feel so empty after being so full, Stiles’ body aches for a moment, desperately wanting to be filled. It doesn’t last long, because Scott is slamming back in harshly, to the top of where his knot is still barely swollen. There’s lube and come on the back of Stiles’ legs, spilling out of him as Scott moves.

He thrusts in and picks Stiles up, dropping him on his lap. There’s an aggressive edge to all of his movements, groans edged with a snarl. It’s everything Stiles wanted, body going lax as Scott comes up on his knees, holds Stiles up so he can pound into him, shallow but hard and steady.

None of the strokes land against Stiles’ prostate, but it doesn’t matter, the push-pull of Scott’s thrusts are enough to have Stiles’ balls drawing up, desperate for release after all the waiting. His dick bobs between them as Scott moves, aching to be touched. 

Scott must be able to tell, he makes a noise that’s closer to a growl than a moan in his throat.

“You have to touch yourself,” he says, mouth full of fangs. Stiles nearly forgot he was still shifted, too focused on the sweet drag Scott’s cock inside of him. When he meets Scott’s eyes, it hits him like a punch in the gut, the vulnerable desire rimmed with red, like nothing Stiles has ever seen. 

“What?” Stiles asks, completely shaken by Scott’s face. It’s dangerous, Stiles knows, body reacting with a burst of adrenaline that just serves to push him closer to the edge. Scott brings him back by drawing his claws over his thigh the barest bit, a light scratch compared to what Scott is capable of.

“Sorry, you’re all wolfy,” Stiles says, breathless, it comes out more of a moan than anything as Scott shoves himself into Stiles, rocking against him. His knot is all the way down, so he nails Stiles’ prostate and _snarls_. “I’m distr - _ah_ \- cted - _hnngh_.”

“Touch your dick,” Scott says, smirking around his fangs as Stiles whines, grinding down to try and get friction. Stiles doesn’t even argue, just wraps his hand around himself, not concerned with lasting any longer. It’s been long enough. 

Satisfied, Scott pushes Stiles back so that his shoulders hit the mattress and draws out to fuck back into Stiles roughly, folding him nearly in half to hammer against Stiles’ prostate. The ache in his muscles and ass is dulled compared to the sensation of his own hand and Scott’s nails prickling into his thighs where he’s gripping Stiles for leverage. 

“Fuck, I’m going to knot again,” Scott says, before he presses his mouth to Stiles, swallowing Stiles’ moan down as Stiles feels Scott’s cock to thicken again.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Stiles whines, screwing his eyes shut, hand moving faster on his own dick. It’s slick with precome, only taking a few strokes and a well-aimed thrust from Scott against his prostate before he’s coming all over his stomach and chest. 

That’s apparently enough for Scott, because he shudders and groans, drawing out quickly so he can add to the mess on Stiles’ chest, gripping himself around his shaft, swollen base bulging past his fingers obscenely. If Stiles wasn’t so out of it, he’d get his mouth on Scott’s knot, but he feels empty without Scott. For some reason, it’s emotionally draining in way he can’t begin to understand. 

Scott falls on him instantly, grabbing his face to kiss him gently; the action calms Stiles’ pounding heart instantly, grounding him. Stiles barely has time to drag his tongue over Scott’s fangs before they’re shrinking back to normal. When they part, Scott’s eyes are brown, soft and concerned. 

“Did I hurt you?” Scott asks, voice far more rough than normal. He sits up and checks Stiles’ thigh with a tender touch, human hands skimming over Stiles’ skin. The scratches sting in a pleasant way, but there’s no blood. 

“Only my _ass_ ,” Stiles says, shifting, feeling the way he aches deeply in his legs and at the core of him. Scott frowns, fingers at Stiles’ swollen rim, prodding. Stiles hisses and arches when Scott traces his slick entrance, still wet with the copious amounts of lube and come. Scott doesn't linger, moves across Stiles' thighs, through the slick mixture there. 

"Are you being gross and happy that I'm stuffed with your come?" Stiles asks. Scott grins at him, dimples denting deeply in his cheeks before he leans down to lick at the come on Stiles' chest. His tongue is pink and wet as he laps up their _jizz_. It really should be sexy, but it is.

"Disgusting," Stiles murmurs as Scott kisses him, tasting tangy and salty and musky. 

**Author's Note:**

> [the tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/)


End file.
